Thanks To Sherlock Holmes
by Writing While I Wander
Summary: AU - Hoopson. A quick look to how a John/Molly relationship would look when Sherlock arrives back in London after his hiatus. Three-shot, mostly focusing on John.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: None of the characters from Sherlock belong to me. I am simply the annoying next-door neighbor who sneaks in to play in the sandbox.

Triggers: None in this chapter, but the few will be posted on my bio in the next few days to avoid spoilers.

Author's notes: See below Chapter

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This relationship wasn't normal by any means – how could it be when one Sherlock Holmes was the reason behind their first meeting?

She hadn't even remembered his name the first couple of week when he'd tagged (or, rather, been dragged kicking and screaming) along to the lab. He'd only seen her as the kitten-obsessed, quiet woman who occasionally blogged and had an unrequited crush on the mysterious detective. Through Sherlock's trips to St. Bart's, they formed a friendship.

A friendship that stayed strong after a psychopath had tried to blow two of them up by gaining the trust of the third, and through the suicide of their friend – a 'proven' fake detective who'd hired an actor to be his arch-nemesis. Molly had kept an eye on her friends after Sherlock's death, but she watched the former army doctor carefully. Knowing how much John had admired and relied on his friend, Molly tried to pay special attention to John as much as she could. She tried to cheer him up as much as possible, but she knew that she could never give him the truth about Sherlock, no matter how much both parties wanted it said. She could, however, make sure that he wouldn't do something he would later regret.

For six months she continued to check up on him once or twice a week, feeling and useless as she watched John sit in his new flat (he'd moved out of 221B as soon as humanly possible) and grieve. Her heart broke the first time she saw that he was using his cane again. But there was something about Doctor John Watson – even in his grief – that demanded respect, not pity. So as his friend, Molly was determined to give him that much, even if that required her to be yelled at or ignored until he passed through the grief he clung to.

It took around another six months for John to finally be able to leave his flat for extended periods and to be able to have a job without fear of losing it, but he did it – and Molly was so proud of him. From what she'd heard, John was quite a mess when he'd come home from Afghanistan. Surviving that hell and then two years later watching their best friend throw himself off a rooftop would be enough to break any person. There was a quiet strength in the former army doctor, Molly knew, and it was shining through now.

It was that strength that first attracted Molly to John – the quiet strength that few people had possession of. Even though she told herself that she was checking up on the doctor for Sherlock's sake, there was a part of her that admitted that she had a slight attraction to the doctor.

Through texts and lunches, that feeling began to grow and also became reciprocated. John began to fall in love with the tiny pathologist. Her simple demeanor and unassuming attitude was something that he was grateful for during his first year without his best friend. At first, the texts and lunch dates had been an apology for being beyond cruel when she'd first began to check up on him, but quickly he found himself completely enchanted by the woman. They had the same taste in music and hobbies, and they both had somewhat odd jobs. And the fact that she saw past the broken man in grief to the true man he could be increased his optimism every time he saw her.

They only went on a few true dates before they both knew that this was going to be a good, permanent relationship. Molly would, as they grew closer, become his confidant and help him with whatever she could while he would become her source of comfort when her job became too much. Each relied on the other to get through the day; yet it never bothered either of them. They knew they'd found what they were looking for in the other.

Soon they began talking of where their relationship was headed. Molly thought that marriage would come next, but kept her thoughts to herself, trying not to frighten him off. To her surprise, John was thinking the exact same thing and three days later, one Molly Hooper was engaged to John Watson.

As the two started to plan the wedding, something extraordinary happened – the only consulting detective in the world, Sherlock Holmes, apparently rose from the dead. John and Molly were relaxing at her flat after a hard day when they heard a knock at the door. John motioned for his fiancée to stay seated and went to answer the door.

From where Molly was sitting, she couldn't see who was at the door, but she could hear John and how furious he was. Running to the door, her jaw dropped at what she saw.

John turned to stare at his fiancée, who'd dashed in after hearing him shout. Molly turned pale when she saw Sherlock lying on her floor. "I thought he was dead," she whispered, unsure of how to react.

"So did I, but apparently the git was never really dead," John growled, too angry to raise his voice.

The three stared at each other, unsure of what to do. John, finally feeling the reality of the situation, left without a word toward Molly's kitchen. Trying to calm himself to think rationally, he poured himself some coffee when he heard Molly begin to question Sherlock.

"What are you trying to do, Sherlock? You know exactly how he was when you supposedly died. Just showing up without any type of warning…" Molly trailed off with her voice breaking. John listened intently, trying to catch every word. Unfortunately, he couldn't hear Sherlock's excuses, but he could hear every word that Molly said. "I could only do so much to help him. He lost his best friend and he had to make the decision to live by himself." Sherlock said something, probably not happy with her excuse. Then Molly replied, "I'm here because you asked me to take care of him and be–"

"You're here because he asked you to be?" demanded John, unable to be silent after a horrible thought came to mind. "You knew that he was alive?" he shouted.

"Yes," Molly whispered with tears gathering in her eyes.

"How long have you known?" John demanded, wondering what the h-l was happening. There was no way that Molly could do this – at least not for long. Perhaps, he started to think, that Sherlock had approached Molly earlier and forced her not to tell.

"I knew since the day he jumped," she confessed, the relief of finally coming clean obvious on her face.

"So…everything was a lie? Was this," motioning between them, "a lie?" When asked this question, Molly began to play with her engagement ring – a sure sign that she was thinking of the perfect way to phrase her answer. That only confirmed the fears in his mind. "That's what I thought," John growled angrily. He grabbed his keys and mobile before leaving his hurt, confused, fiancée and his newly resurrected best friend standing in her flat.

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Author's Note: Hello! Thanks for taking the time to read this. This hasn't been beta-read or Brit-picked, so if you see something I missed or if the formatting is off, please feel free to let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine.

**Triggers: **Listed on my profile page to prevent spoilers. But if you read Sherlock fanfiction, you should be fine.

**Thanks to CloudCuckooLandHasAQueen **and **Username1576 for their reviews.**

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John made his way to his old flat, his vision still red from anger. He flopped down on the couch, resisting the urge to drink the beer that was in his refrigerator. John rubbed his face as he remembered that Molly had been the one to help him through his alcoholic tendencies. He truly felt sick at the thought of the dear woman even being able to lie, let alone lie about their relationship. Turing on the telly, he gave another sigh and began to immerse himself into the world that the black box had to offer.

It was only a few minutes before he heard the sound of someone breaking into his flat. _Some things never change – apparently even after a supposed death_, John thought as stood up. Walking over to the door, he let his – ex-best friend, best friend on probation? – in and looked at him with a clear expression: He wanted an explanation.

And so Sherlock gave John all the answers – how he did it…and why he did it. Yes he understood why Sherlock and Molly had lied to him, and yes he wasn't necessarily furious at Sherlock and Molly, but he was still angry at them.

John and Sherlock sat in the doctor's flat in somewhat friendly silence. John suspected that Sherlock had entered his Mind Palace in an attempt to keep himself from showing too much emotion. That didn't bother John; he needed time to process just exactly what his thoughts and feelings were about Molly.

He was definitely hurt. Definitely suspicious of her 'love.' Definitely glad for some space. John then roused himself and began to sort out his thoughts. Every time that he thought of a reason not to go back to Molly, a good redeeming memory or fact would resurface and make him just a little bit happier. Her eyes would sparkle, her laugh would bring a smile to his face, and Molly's demeanor would relax more as she became more comfortable with him. Due to her catastrophic relationships, Molly was always slightly on edge when they started going out. Yet as they grew closer, she began to visibly become more at ease when she was near him. It made him feel wonderful that he could make her comfortable when no one else could. He sighed – another tally for the pro column.

But between Sherlock's unexpected arrival and learning of his fiancée's part in the act (and doubting every word she had said to him), John had no true desire for sleep that night. He watched the BBC until one AM in an attempt to calm his mind. After that didn't really work, he wrote the first draft of his new blog entry – he was honestly surprised that he remembered the password. By a quarter after five, John was finally able to sleep, thankful that he had both Friday and Monday off.

John was forcibly woken up a couple of hours later by Sherlock as the detective roughly shook his shoulder. "What the h-l, Sherlock?"

"You need to see this," Sherlock replied, his tone urgent.

Jumping out of his bed and quickly putting on some clothes, the doctor joined Sherlock in front of John's laptop. The detective was drumming his fingers on the table but he didn't seem to be annoyed at John – he seemed concerned.

"What is it?" asked John, seeing Sherlock hesitate to click on a video, apparently the thing Sherlock wanted him to see.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said honestly as he clicked the play button.

Molly's bruised, tear-streaked face appeared on the screen. She was tied to a chair and breathing heavily while trying in vain not to cry as someone filmed her. Both men winced as someone off-camera punched Molly, making her whimper in pain. John grew angrier as they continued to beat her; the pain in his chest grew with every whimper and grimace. "Your precious pathologist is quite brave," a disguised man voice said. "She won't say a word. Find her before 2100 Saturday or she'll never say another word." The video stopped while John stared in shock and horror.

"Please tell me you know where she is," John practically begged to Sherlock, desperate to have the woman he needed – yes, needed – back in his arms, protecting her from whoever was hurting her.

"Mycroft has people looking for her now. Obviously, it is one of Moriarty's men that managed to escape me during my 'death'" Though his face was blank, his voice shook, letting John know that Molly's chances were becoming bleak. The doctor began to pace the room while his thoughts simultaneously consisted of wondering how Sherlock had missed one of Moriarty's network and of self-loathing for leaving Molly, even though he had been angry at the time.

Knowing what was going on in John's head, Sherlock began the platitudes of 'you're not at fault.' John's placid face became a picture of rage before letting out string of curses. "When I proposed to Molly, I promised I would protect her. Don't," John started when he saw Sherlock's confused face, "ask me to explain it, she only told me after she had made me promise multiple times that I would never tell and the b-d is dead, so it couldn't be him."

Thankfully before Sherlock could ask any more questions, the detective's mobile blared out the ringtone programmed for Mycroft, breaking the tension. "Where is she?" he demanded. The familiar gleam entered the detective's eyes and John knew that 'Big Brother' was finally being useful.

Mycroft had also provided a car, knowing that if the pair used a cab, they would force the cabbie to break multiple traffic laws in an effort to quickly rescue the pathologist. John was grateful but spent most of the ride drumming his fingers on the seat, willing the driver to drive faster. Sherlock, in his own way, tried to encourage his friend and John was grateful, just not willing to think about anything other than having Molly safe.

The building where they were holding Molly was an old, worn-down building with fencing around the property. The former Army doctor started to rush into the building, but felt an arm pull him back. "I'm going to go in first and try to talk the men into letting you take her away from them. Stay hidden and only go to Molly after they give you permission. He will not hesitate to kill her if he thinks he's cornered," instructed the detective. Making a mental note to ask him about his newly acquired negotiating skills later, John nodded and walked quickly in step with his friend.

The building was full of rooms and corridors, making it difficult to spot if anyone was making rounds. First the ground floor was cleared and then the second one. John prayed to whoever was listening that Molly would be on the third floor. If she wasn't…

The duo stopped when they heard voices directly in front of them. Sherlock flipped his Belstaff's collar up while John remained quietly in the shadows. He waited anxiously as the detective slowly made his way to the b-ds that had Molly. He heard his friend's voice carry, steady and calm as always. John heart was pounding in his ears as too much time passed. Eventually, John heard Sherlock calling for him to retrieve Molly. Putting his hands up slightly to show he had no weapon, John walked toward the group.

Sherlock was standing behind Molly, presumably untying her from her chair. John felt as if he'd been kick in the stomach when he saw her – both her eyes were nearly swollen shut, blood was everywhere on her pale skin, and her arms and legs were positioned at odd angles.

He quickly knelt in front of Molly, assessing if she could leave under her own power. "Molly, do you know if anything is broken?" he murmured, taking her untied wrists into his hands and rubbing them gently.

"I don't know," she managed to say. Molly tried to stand but sank into John's arms as her one of her legs was revealed to be broken.

"I've got you, you're safe," John murmured, tightening his hold on her as they started to walk. "No one can hurt you now."

"He's going to kill Sherlock and then he's going to kill you," bit out Molly. Walking seemed to grow more difficult with each step for her.

"Sherlock's fine and we're safe. Everything is going to be fine, Love," he tried to assure her. Keeping her spirit up was the only way to keep her going.

Seeing the exit, John grabbed Molly and began to carry her, trying to minimize her pain – and it was also a quicker way to help Sherlock. He carried her to the medical team waiting outside, where John put her gently on a stretcher. He softly stroked Molly's hair before turning to go help his friend. Grabbing his wrist, Molly grimaced and said, "Don't go. He's using you." Her voice was scratchy from dehydration and her time being held captive.

"Who – Sherlock? That–"

"The man who took me – he's going to burn the heart out of Sherlock," she coughed, not releasing her grip on his hand.

"Easy," he soothed, moving to clasp her hand. "Is that what he said?"

"Yes. He's going to kill you and then kill Sherlock. Please don't go in there," she begged. He saw the tears forming in her eyes. Rounds of gunshots were heard inside the building and Molly tightened her grip. "Please don't go – I can't lose you."

John took in a breath at this admission. He'd already decided that he needed her; he just wasn't sure how she felt about him. "All right," he soothed, though he still kept an eye on the warehouse. "I won't go in." He began to stroke her cold cheek, keeping her distracted as the medical team began to poke at her. As the medical team began to put her in the ambulance, John gave Molly's hand one last comforting squeeze. "I'll meet you at the hospital," he promised her as Sherlock limped out. He gave her one last look before joining his friend.

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**Author's notes: **Thanks again for reading this! Again, this is not beta-read or Brit-picked, so if you see any mistakes, let me know. Also, if have any opinion about this chapter, let me know - I enjoy growing in my writing and constructive criticism is how you grow.


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